(2) Should your reaction to (1) be favorable, I would beg to be considered for the post of editor. I should be glad to submit a resume upon request, and, if policy dictates, would willingly assume the nom de guerre of Laura Clarke for the term of employment.
(3) This last point may well be the most important of all. In any mammoth corporation, Mr. Finch, an executive is faced with the problem of delegating authority wisely. One cannot take too much upon one’s own shoulders, nor yet can one put too much trust in the good judgment of inferiors.
What brings this all home is a letter I today received. It seems to have originated from your office, and was either signed by a subordinate or, in the crush of daily work, was signed by yourself without you having taken the time to read it. A glance will assure you that you would not at your worst moment be capable of producing such drivel. While a letter of this sort directed to me would have no obvious repercussions, you can surely imagine the results if a more important letter were handled in this fashion. For that matter, even this particular letter could have unfortunate results should it be widely circulated among, for example, editorial and sales personnel. While the word laughingstock is a bit strong, I’m sure the point is clear to you.
In the event that you do not have a copy of the letter at hand, I am enclosing herewith a Xerox copy for your attention.
LC/s
Enc.
12
Miss Rozanne Gumbino
Whitestone Publications, Inc.
67 West 44th Street
New York 10036
Dearest Rozanne:
The offer still holds, you gorgeous cunt, you.
13
74 Bleecker St.
New York 10012
June 23
Mr. Ronald David Caulder, Esq.
Muggsworth, Caulder, Travis & Beale
437 Piper Blvd. Richmond, Va.
Dear Mr. Caulder:
I have it on reasonably good authority that you are presently engaged in the preparation of a suit of defamation of character against Mr. Clayton Finch, President of Whitestone Publications, Inc.
This puts me in a rather awkward position, as I have ties of allegiance to both Mr. Finch and yourself, having served one in the capacity of editor and the other in the capacity of son-in-law. My first impulse was to sit this one out on the sidelines, but further reflection has convinced me that neutrality in this instance would be cowardly and irresponsible.
Accordingly, I’m enclosing herewith a Xerox copy of a letter I received today from Mr. Finch. You’ll note his reference to yourself in the passage I’ve marked. His characterization of you as “either terribly confused or a raving maniac,” and his recommendation that I cease to employ you professionally, would certainly seem to be actionable. Of course mine is only a lay opinion in every sense of the word, and you will no doubt be better able to judge this point.
At the same time, I do owe a measure of loyalty to Mr. Finch for past favors. Thus, should this matter ever come to court, it would be my duty to testify on his behalf. I would then confirm his charge and would testify that, during the time I have known you, you have frequently been terribly confused and have more than occasionally acted the role of a raving maniac.
My regards to your client Mrs. Clarke. Please convey to her my best wishes for success in her forthcoming marriage.
LC/s Enc.
14
219 Maple Road
Richmond, Virginia
Saturday
Dear Larry,
I ought to know better than to write you this letter. You’ll probably send a copy of it to my father, or to The New York Times, or God only knows where. And I get the feeling that the more I ask you not to, the more likely it is that you will, which gives me pause. I’ve always said that you were the strangest person I’ve ever known. That’s your charm, sugar loaf, but it’s also your downfall. I think right now your madness has taken its strangest form to date. I’ve heard of dancing manias and praying manias. There was a poet, Christopher Smart, who used to make his friends fall down in the streets of London and pray with him. They tucked him away in Bedlam. Samuel Johnson said he didn’t think the man was all that mad, and that he’d as soon fall down and pray in the streets with Kit Smart as anyone else in London.
Why am I telling you this? I think it’s because there’s nobody to talk to about anything much more complex than the weather and baseball. Dammit, I miss New York. It’s nice breathing fresh air, but it gives you all this energy, lover, and then you have nothing to do with it because you’re in Richmond. Or rather I’m in Richmond.
But to get back to you. You seem to have a correspondence mania, and I don’t understand it, but I can see where it might be fun. And at least you’re writing something. You know, sometimes I think that’s why I left you. You were a writer and you weren’t writing anything, and that went against the grain of the old Protestant Ethic, of which I suppose I’m still a willing captive.
Hmmmm. Why, indeed, am I telling you this? I guess to warn you to be careful of Father. You know about his bark. His bite is even worse. Please do not provoke him.
You’re going to send him this fucking letter. I just know you are. Dammit, don’t.
Well, Richmond is beginning to get to me, as I think I said. I’m getting the old urge for a trip to Big Town. Thought I might come up next weekend and take in a couple of shows. Maybe I’ll give you a ring and we can gripe about old times or something.
If I thought you could be trusted, I would make you a deal. I know you can’t, but I’ll offer the deal anyway. If you’ll quit mailing things to Daddy, especially this letter, I’ll stop trying to get blood from your turnip. In other words, I’ll lay off on the alimony demands until you start to get things together.
On the other hand, Larry love, if you decide to be a total rat bastard and send this to Daddy, I’m going to drop the reins and give him his head. He has been telling me to have you thrown in jail for nonpayment of alimony. I have been telling him not to be silly, because how could you earn money to pay me if you were in jail? Still, prison would keep you from mailing any objectionable letters, so if you force my hand, you’ll get locked up, darling.